


Small Deeds

by havetaoque



Series: Spideypool stories [9]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: "Language!" -Cap, Because Deadpool, Coffee Shop, Cranes are totally cool, Deadpool has tacos, Fluff, M for language, M/M, One-Shot, Peter Parker - Freeform, Peter is stressed, Pre-Relationship, Rude man, Secret Identities, Tacos, Wade Wilson - Freeform, friends - Freeform, mean comments, not so secret anymore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2017-04-17
Packaged: 2018-10-20 00:31:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10651302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havetaoque/pseuds/havetaoque
Summary: Tacos do make everything better. But greasy origami is also magical. Or, Wade and Peter have each other's backs, even if they don't realize it yet.





	Small Deeds

Peter awoke in the grass, covered with dew and stiff from sleeping on the hard ground all night. The sun hadn’t come up yet, but the darkness was retreating, and the other gravestones became solid shapes on the lawn as the fog lifted. The Spider-man suit clung to his skin, damp and stale with sweat.

Peter sat up and a blanket he didn’t recognize slid off his shoulders. It was thick and fluffy, fraying a bit on one corner. He sniffed it and the smell reminded him of smoke and that time he and Uncle Ben had gone to Vermont when a school science project had Peter obsessed with tree sap. Peter rolled up the blanket, tucking it under his arm, but then shook it out when the chilly morning breeze hit his damp suit and wrapped it around his shoulders. He left the cemetery, keeping to the darker patches beneath the trees and swung home.

Falling asleep at Gwen’s grave was completely unplanned. Next time he needed to have a breakdown about his school-work-superhero-life unbalance, he wouldn’t fall asleep and lie out in his suit all night, where anyone could come along and pull up his mask or start asking why Spider-man slept in dirt by a woman he’d killed years ago. A sudden jolt of paranoia hit him and he tore the blanket off his shoulders, checking it for trackers. Finding none, he dropped it over the arm of his couch and began peeling off his cold suit, shivering all the way into the shower.

 

Two days later, the front page of the Daily Bugle was sporting a grainy photograph of Spider-man in the cemetery, sitting in the dirt. The headline read, “SPIDER MENACE TURNED GRAVE ROBBER?” Peter sighed and kept walking. Coursework, Jameson, and patrolling were slowly stripping away bits of Peter and he really just wanted sleep. The only person he could confide in was dead, Doctor Connors was creeping around in the sewers again, the other night he ran into a purple alien that tried to lick him and follow him home. (Peter had ended up buying it ice cream and it left him alone after that.)

He ducked into a coffee shop as it started to rain and got in line. He watched a man in a black hoodie fiddling with a post-it note at a corner table. The man got up and walked over to a little girl with pigtails, crouching down to her level, and offered her the tiny paper lily. The child’s eyes lit up and she took it from the man’s gloved hands.

“That’s so cool,” she said. “How did you do it?”

“A Japanese gang member taught me,” the man said. “She could make all sorts of things.”

Peter chuckled. The man flashed him a grin from under his hood.

“Maggie, get back here!” The child turned around as her father hurried over.  The man latched onto the girl’s arm and marched her back to their table. He shot the other man a glare, which quickly changed to a look of horror. “You stay away from my child.”

Peter frowned at the man’s rudeness. "Hey, man. He wasn't hurting anyone."

The man in the hoodie stood slowly, hands out in a calming gesture. “It was just a flower, mister,” he said.

The man glared at him, hugging his child tightly to his chest. “Leave us alone.”

The man in the hoodie met Peter’s eyes for a moment and Peter saw sadness. Then the man shoved his hands in his pockets and walked out the door into the rain. Peter ordered his coffee quietly and went to work.

 

The rain didn’t let up. It was two in the morning and Peter was crouched under an overhang on a rooftop, trying not to fall asleep.  

“Baby boy!”

Deadpool hauled himself onto the roof. “Fancy meeting your beautiful behind here.”

Peter jerked awake. “Deadpool! Hey.”

Deadpool sat down beside him, creating a little puddle of rain water beneath him. He pulled four slightly crushed tacos from one of his pouches and offered two to Peter.

“Tacos, Spidey?”

“Thanks,” Peter said, taking the tacos. He rolled up his mask and sighed happily at the taste of hot food.  

“Tacos are guaranteed to make all your troubles go away!” Deadpool proclaimed, inhaling his own taco.

Peter had a sudden flashback to the man in the coffee shop with the sad eyes. He looked at Deadpool, who was licking the grease from the tacos off his fingers. Peter tore a corner off the paper his taco had been wrapped in and began folding it.

“So I ran into a certain scaly scientist in the sewer today,” Wade said. “He’s one of your villains, right? …We _should_ totally write poetry. We would be the best at alliteration. Our name is alliteration--”

“Here.” Peter thrust a greasy origami crane in Deadpool’s face. Deadpool grasped it carefully by the tail and cradled it in his gloved hands.

“It’s the only one I know how to do,” Peter said. “My aunt taught me.”

Peter saw Deadpool smile beneath his mask. “We got a gift from Spidey! It’s fucking awesome. But why are you giving it to me?”

Peter shrugged. “Dunno. Cranes are cool.”

“Damn right, they are.” Deadpool stuck it in one of his pouches. “I’ll treasure it forever, Spidey-babe,” he said, slapping a hand over his heart.

Peter chuckled. “You’d better. I think I’m gonna go get some sleep. This week has been hell.”

He stood up and Deadpool whistled, making grabby hands. “Dat ass, baby boy. In wet spandex.”

“You’re not too bad yourself, Pooly.” He paused at the edge of the roof and looked back at Deadpool. “Thanks again for the tacos. Oh, and that man was a total dick.”

He leaped off the building and swung away, grinning.

That night, he fell asleep, wrapped in the fluffy blanket with the frayed edge that smelled like Deadpool.


End file.
